


Friend or Lover

by sweetcomicValentino



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Episode: s09e09 Taking the Fifth, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcomicValentino/pseuds/sweetcomicValentino
Summary: Whether the intention was to drown their sorrows in questionable gin from the still or savor a stolen swig of Charles’s imported scotch, recreational alcoholism was their thing. So maybe BJ was feeling a little sour to be left out of the wine tasting.Or, adapting bits of s9e9 "Taking the Fifth" into prose and giving it an alternate ending
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	Friend or Lover

The ad reads: “Savor a vintage evening with Hawkeye Pierce! Trade your boredom for some Bordeaux, the epitome of the vintner’s art. In one-hundred words or less, tell why you should be in a glass by yourself. Please send a code name so that your anonymity will be preserved. The decision of the judge will be final.”

BJ tells him that the solicitation is depraved, and Hawkeye beams with pride at the accusation. If asked, BJ would first insist that his distaste for the situation was purely a question of morals, then later he’d decide mid-way through his reasoning that he was just annoyed to be missing out on the only halfway decent thing to drink for miles. BJ and Hawkeye were a drinking duo. Whether the intention was to drown their sorrows in questionable gin from the still or savor a stolen swig of Charles’s imported scotch, recreational alcoholism was their thing. So maybe he was feeling a little sour to be left out of the wine tasting.

That’s all it was.

And Hawkeye’s smug grin didn’t much help BJ’s growing resentment. Once the memo was pinned, pinned too was the devious glint in Hawkeye’s eye, smile more devilish than usual. Even with his surgical mask covering him chin to nose, BJ could still catch glimpses of the sly curl of his lip as Margaret scolded him for the crude advertisement. Hawkeye parades his promiscuity around like some sort of trophy in itself, like the mere open invitation was as much of a badge of honor as the actual sexual conquest he was offering. It spins something vicious in BJ, something he did not like and did not care to examine.

For the rest of the afternoon, his internal dialogue does backflips trying to avoid the word ‘jealous.’ BJ is no stranger to Hawkeye’s wanton antics. Flirting is so much a part of Hawkeye’s vernacular that sometimes BJ barely notices it. Hawkeye will even flirt with _him_ if he’s feeling coy, but that’s just who Hawkeye is. He says things he doesn’t mean just for the fun of saying it. He likes the performance of it, the banter, and sometimes BJ likes to play along. They’ll spin entire narratives of the two of them going out for dinner, having made reservations at the mess tent; wearing their finest green-gray garb, to eat their green-gray food, talking about their surroundings like they’re in a grand hotel dining room in New York, being served by waiters in black ties carrying silver trays. Hawkeye will compliment BJ’s hair and tell him he’s positively glowing in the candlelight, and BJ will toast with his mug of tap water and say that Hawkeye’s eyes have never sparkled quite like tonight, and they’ll laugh, because it’s all very funny.

It’s in Hawkeye’s nature to proposition. BJ should be used to it by now. Perhaps it’s just the angle Hawkeye’s taken this time, with the advertisement on the bulletin board, making a contest of it. It’s in poor taste.

Perhaps it’s that BJ’s company was rejected in favor of someone a little more willing and able to not let a good bottle of French wine go to waste.

But that would make BJ sound jealous.

Or at the very least, resentful, and that was no better a quality. If he wasn’t careful, this fixation could easily result in a sort of passive-aggressive animosity, and while BJ wasn’t necessarily above giving Hawkeye the cold shoulder when he was being particularly obnoxious, he didn’t like the way it felt. BJ’s grudges with Hawkeye either fizzled out into nothing in a matter of hours, or left BJ feeling an odd sort of guilt for antagonizing Hawkeye’s attempts at fun. They were in a war, after all. Joy is nothing to take for granted.

Most of the time, BJ is happy to join Hawkeye’s mischief. Sometimes he even initiates it himself. It’s a relief from the harsh realities they’re forced to reckon with on the day-to-day. It’s fun. BJ has the blessing of a golden-boy façade, so that even still, he can smile his way out of suspicion more often than not. It comes in handy. Hawkeye likes to complain about it, whine over the unfair privilege granted to BJ based solely on the proportions of his face; and sometimes when he’s bemoaning the prejudice, Hawkeye will hold a finger under BJ’s chin, or pinch his cheek, and BJ will smile, and the flash of teeth will only send Hawkeye into further turmoil. And they’ll laugh, because Hawkeye thinks BJ is handsome, and that’s all very funny.

BJ avoids Hawkeye once they’re out of the OR. He tries to seem normal, but with his frustrations brewing all day, his exit is short and terse. In passing, BJ wonders if Trapper would have been a better companion throughout this particular rendezvous, because BJ can only meet Hawkeye’s sparkling eyes with a look of contention. But Hawkeye even seems to get a kick out of that, some childish delight in knowing that his arrangement annoys the likes of BJ and Margaret. That was all part of the game, too. Half the fun of being a menace was getting a rise out of begrudging bystanders.

So BJ says he’s going to write to Peg, and takes a stroll around camp instead.

By his third go-around, BJ is no less flustered than before. He passes by the bulletin, ground zero, like it’s got a gravitational pull that only BJ is orbiting. He reads it and scoffs, as if he hadn’t been the one to read it aloud to Hawkeye earlier that day for buy-off. It’s tacky. It’s over the top, egotistical, and an awful lot of effort to go to just to get a date.

BJ starts walking again. He has a pen and a few folded sheets of paper in his back pocket and he thinks he really should just find a spot to sit down and write to Peg. It might help take his mind off things. There’s plenty to write to her about that doesn’t involve Hawkeye.

Though, that is always true, isn’t it, yet BJ writes of Hawkeye in almost every letter he sends to her. Peg tells BJ about Erin, and BJ tells Peg about Hawkeye. The juxtaposition makes BJ feel a bit nauseous in the moment. Here he is, parading bitterly around camp trying to stave off feelings of rejection, feeling jealous where he shouldn’t and neglecting to pen a letter to his wife in the meanwhile. BJ likes to think himself self-aware, but in reality, he habitually fails to confront his feelings.

But, he argues to no one, it felt right to marry Peg. That’s a feeling he never fought. He never needed to fight. They were high school sweethearts, and asking her to marry him felt like the natural next step. He never gave it a second thought, and surely that is a testament to how much he loves her. Remaining faithful has always been easy, because, well, he’s just that kind of guy, and Peg is just that wonderful a woman. But not thinking twice about Peg stands at odds with thinking constantly about Hawkeye, and BJ can’t wrap his head around that in any way that doesn’t send him into an existential crisis.

He’s standing in front of the bulletin again, biting the inside of his mouth. He tries to be discreet, tries to look like he’s interested in some other listing, but the effort is in vain. He reads _boredom for some Bordeaux_ and silently admits with a slight tilt of his head that it’s a clever little play on words.

_In a hundred words or less_ , Hawkeye’s handwriting instructs, _tell why you should be in a glass by yourself_.

“Well,” BJ murmurs. He reaches for the pen and paper in his back pocket. “All’s fair in love and war, right Hawk?”

Hawkeye weaves his way through the mess tent carrying three envelopes in his hand, leering with a wide grin as he sits beside BJ. “Say, Beej,” he starts lithely, waving the envelopes in BJ’s face with one coy flick of his wrist. “What do you think this is?”

BJ continues setting up his game of solitaire. “You’ve been drafted?”

Hawkeye only briefly entertains BJ’s joke, deadpan as it was, and persists with the bragging he came here for. Three envelopes, three applicants. Hawkeye seems perfectly satisfied with the turn out.

BJ doesn’t look at him as Hawkeye starts reciting the letters.

The first letter begins, “ _I think your contest is a wonderful idea_ ,” which prompts a mischievous laugh from Hawkeye’s throat. “ _I really love good wine, and I think it would be fun to share a few belts with you_ ,” Hawkeye’s grin quickly fades, “signed, Chastity.” He folds the letter and tosses it aside, and now it’s BJ’s turn to wear a smug grin.

But the single defeat doesn’t do much to sway him, and Hawkeye is quickly on to the next. The second letter has just as promising a start, but nosedives into a frustratingly platonic tease of an application, which makes Hawkeye frown and makes BJ smile wider than he had in days. With two rejections out of three, Hawkeye’s morale quickly skews cynical. “What is this world coming to,” he laments as BJ smiles at his card game. “Everywhere I look, morality.”

BJ flips over a three of clubs. He encourages Hawkeye to read the last one, though he tries to say it in a way that makes it seem like he has no stake in the matter. Just an innocent bystander. “Read on, rebuffed,” he teases, and Hawkeye opens the third letter with far less esteem, bracing himself for another dud.

“ _Dear Hawkeye_ ,” Hawkeye begins, his voice dull and resigned; a striking contrast to the way that BJ’s heart is suddenly racing. BJ is still looking at his cards, but he’s barely keeping track of the game at this point _._ “ _I find you an incredibly exciting_ –” Hawkeye slows, “ _vibrant man_.” BJ looks up. He waits for a reaction. Hawkeye looks at the words on the page for a beat before mellowing, exhaling on his grin and repositioning himself slightly. “Just had a rush of blood to my ego,” he comments softly. BJ smiles. “ _Your fabulous wine would be the perfect appetizer to a wonderfully intimate main cours_ e,” Hawkeye continues, almost swooning. He looks at BJ and laughs a delighted and breathy laugh, which BJ returns with a steady glance and a careful, almost stoic expression. Almost stoic, save for the pressed curl of the corner of his mouth that even he can’t help. “ _I must admit, wine does make me a little crazy, but I’m sure it’s nothing that you can’t handle_ –!” Hawkeye may as well be fanning himself with the letter by now. BJ watches him make a show of it, but suppresses any indication of amusement as best he can.

“ _I hope you pick me, Hawkeye_ ,” Hawkeye reads, chin high. His voice turns devilish as he continues, “ _I’ve always thought you were all man_ ,” putting more emphasis than necessary on the last two words. “ _Every time you look in my eyes_ –” BJ glances up at him. “– _I turn to jelly_.” BJ looks back down at his session of solitaire. “Signed, Sweet Preserves,” Hawkeye finishes with reverence, folding the letter back up neatly and pressing a gentle kiss to it.

BJ is grateful for his steady hands, because the way his nerves are acting up would surely be noticeable on anyone else. He clears his throat and lays down another card. “Sounds like a winner,” he comments indifferently.

“Home run,” Hawkeye celebrates. “Hey, what do you think is the look that jars her? Think it’s my, ah –” he sways a little in his seat, like he’s getting into character. “My Rudolph Valentino?” Hawkeye straightens out his spine a little, giving his shoulders and chin a delicate contrapposto while his eyelids flutter into a heavy-lidded, sultry look and BJ can’t help the high pitched scoff of a laugh at the sight of it. Hawkeye doesn’t quite know what to make of that reaction. He pivots, “maybe it’s the boy-next-door.” BJ meets Hawkeye’s eyes and waits. Hawkeye’s face brightens into a wide, humble smile, and BJ’s annoyed that the very practiced grin works so well.

Hawkeye has a charm about him, something that goes beyond appearances. If you looked at him, you might notice the slouch of his neck, or the angles of his nose, and think that there is nothing remarkable about this person. But speak to Hawkeye Pierce for one minute, and he’ll enrapture you in some nonsensical interaction that, in retrospect, is sparse of substance, but at the time feels like some spellbound waltz. Hawkeye’s charm has less to do with his appearance and everything to do with everything else about him. He could make just about anything entertaining, and on some occasions, even mesmerizing. And with all that charisma spilling out of him, his slouch and his nose and his riddle of a face start to adopt the beauty of the rest of him. Soon enough, Hawkeye’s smile feels the same as his singing. The scrunch of his eyes when he grins strikes the heart as much as his flirtatious backtalk. It makes BJ’s chest ache.

“Sweet Preserves,” Hawkeye repeats curiously. “Who do you suppose is Sweet Preserves?”

BJ looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “What better place to find out who turns to jelly than the mess tent?” BJ says. Hawkeye nods, and takes his leave then, off to suss out the identity of his mystery date while BJ sits with his senseless piles of cards that he’d entirely lost track of.

_Pop_!

In the storage room, Hawkeye uncorks the bottle of wine. He hums along to the radio as he strikes a match and lights the candle that he has perched on the shelf. It does little to improve the ambiance, but any effort should be appreciated all things considered. Hawkeye is even wearing his best shirt, the short sleeve button down with blue and white floral print over a clean gray t-shirt; dressed to the nines, as far as the army could ever tell. He blows out the match with a flourish and tosses it over his shoulder, still humming as he twirls into a solo slow dance.

He has every expectation that his night will be nothing short of passionate. It was a close call, with his first two applications gone bust, but Sweet Preserves really came through for him. It’s only right that he returns the favor.

There’s a gurney propped with questionable stability over a few crates, and Hawkeye is mid rehearsing a seductive bedside manner when there’s a knock at the door. He springs to his feet to answer it, granting one last minute check of his hair in the distorted reflection of a metal bowl. Satisfied, he leans against the door with his hand on the doorknob and asks in a theatrical cadence, “Who goes there? Friend, or lover?”

A pause, and then a familiar voice replies, “Depends?”

Hawkeye’s face scrunches up. “Beej,” he says as he opens the door, greeted by BJ in the doorframe.

BJ grins at him and side steps into the room. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, crossing his hands behind his back. “Just couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Hawkeye, hand still on the doorknob, exhales a short laugh, bemused. “Right, good one,” he awards. “But you can’t sweet talk me out of a single drop of that wine. So whatever it is, make it fast. Depraved as I am, I don’t think Nurse Preserves would appreciate the extra company.” Hawkeye moves to usher BJ back out of the room, but BJ resists.

“Hey – hey! I won fair and square, didn’t I?” BJ asks. That gives Hawkeye pause.

“What,” he starts, his head tilting slightly like he’s waiting for BJ to finish his thought for him. “ _You’re_ Sweet Preserves?”

BJ raises his brow, his eyes going puppy-dog even though his grin is nothing short of smug. “Disappointed?”

Hawkeye is very still for a moment as he registers that he’s been duped. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, propping his free hand on his hip and muttering, “I should’ve known.” He deflates in surrender, and gestures with lanky arms for BJ to join him inside, walking towards the wine in a lap of defeat. “You really had me fooled, Beej,” Hawkeye says as he turns off the radio and grabs the bottle by the neck and starts to pour. BJ closes the door, leaning against it as it clicks shut. “Here I thought I had a real secret admirer on my hands.”

“Who says you haven’t?” BJ braves.

But Hawkeye just laughs. He fills his glass nearly to the brim and sips it so it doesn’t spill over. Then he fills another, less generous glass and holds it out to BJ. BJ steps forward and accepts it, and Hawkeye taps his glass against BJ’s with a dull _clink_.

“Well, go on,” Hawkeye says as he takes a seat on the gurney.

BJ positions himself opposite Hawkeye, leaning against the steel shelves. He’s convinced there’s a hummingbird in his chest. “Go on, what?”

“I’m sure you’ve got some sort of clever lecture lined up, about me getting what I deserve.”

“I didn’t come here to lecture you.”

“Just to steal my wine.”

“That’s part of it.”

Hawkeye nods and _hmm-hmm_ s knowingly, one arm crossed over his stomach and propping up his other arm’s elbow. He pauses a moment, his smile faltering a little. “What’s the other part?”

“Well, you wrote the ad.”

“Ha,” Hawkeye says. His expression skews confused. He waits for BJ to elaborate, but they stand in silence for longer than Hawkeye is comfortable with. Realization sets in and Hawkeye exhales. BJ’s heart is racing, but he holds the glass of wine close to his face in an effort to obstruct any telling flickers of terror. Hawkeye presses his lips together and nods once. His demeanor relaxes a little, but BJ can feel his defenses rising. “Ah, yeah,” Hawkeye starts, hesitant. “Don’t worry, I get the picture. What’s a little favor between friends, right?” BJ’s face starts to feel warm. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. A little marital loophole. Doesn’t count. Between friends.”

“Hawk.”

Hawkeye knocks back the rest of his glass. BJ feels mortified.

Neither of them speak then, and every second that passes in silence adds to the heat in BJ’s face and the drumming in his ears. BJ tries to remedy the awkwardness, back pedaling with a hurried, “Hawk, I wasn’t –”

But it’s at the same time that Hawkeye starts, “It’s just –”

So BJ says, “sorry.”

And Hawkeye says, “no.”

BJ tells him, “you can –”

But Hawkeye insists, “it’s fine.”

BJ exhales. He thinks he shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have hijacked Hawkeye’s plans. He should have just let it go. He jumped into this too unprepared, his feelings too raw, and now they were both suffering the consequences.

“Maybe I’m selfish,” BJ admits. “Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Hawkeye just looks at him. “Are you talking to me, or the Bordeaux?” he asks after a beat of silence. BJ laughs, and it eases the tension. Hawkeye can’t help his smile as he watches BJ grin into his wine. Another pause, and then, “Listen, Beej.” Hawkeye adjusts where he’s sitting, turning slightly to face him more head on. “I just. Can’t. I can’t have you resenting me.”

“Resent you?”

Hawkeye grins a little helplessly. “Yeah, you know. For – whatever you thought this was supposed to be. I – if I cared about you any less, I would.” When BJ doesn’t seem to get it, Hawkeye continues a little exasperated, “After everything is said and done, _if_ we ever make it out of here, I can’t have you thinking of me as some – moment of weakness. Some lapse in your judgment, a desperate attempt at – at – I don’t even know. I’ve woken up with plenty of people’s regret on my hands, but I don’t think I could live with myself if I was one of yours.”

“I wouldn’t regret it.”

“Well, I know you would.”

“You don’t.”

Hawkeye gives him a look then, one that asks, ‘who are you kidding?’ “You’re married.”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“Never. But it stops you.”

BJ’s jaw tightens and he breathes a short sigh through his nose. “This whole – thing,” he starts, gesturing vaguely with his glass. “It’s made me a tiny bit crazy, honestly. You, with the wine, and making a whole event of it. I felt… left out.”

“Well, I could have added your name to the flier. Make a double-date of it.”

“Hawkeye.”

“Might’ve gotten double the responses that way. Maybe triple.”

“Hawk.”

“Beej, you could have anyone you want here, you know that?” Hawkeye says, standing. “French grape juice not withstanding, I hear the nurses’ gossip and you’re the real talk of the town. The forbidden fruit. So please, I’m begging you, ask any one of them. You’ve got a lonely itch you’re trying to scratch, I promise there’s someone out here that’s more your taste who lacks just as much self respect as I do.”

“Hawk, you’re not listening to me,” BJ says, standing too. “I want you.”

“You do not.”

BJ laughs, exasperated. “I – I – I think you’re _exciting and vibrant_ ,” he recites.

“You were making fun of me,” Hawkeye interjects before BJ can continue.

“Only a little,” he admits. “But it was an easy letter to write. Even if it was a little exaggerated. I just – wanted to get your attention. I didn’t know how many letters you were going to get. And besides, I didn’t have to pretend all that much.”

“Oh, please. You’ve never turned to jelly in your life.”

BJ takes Hawkeye’s hand in his. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

Hawkeye is still for a long while after that. He wants to pull away, but BJ’s hand is warm and steady, and he’d be lying if he said the touch didn’t help ground him. Hawkeye says, “If you’re not careful, I’ll start to think you’re in love with me.” It’s meant to sound like a joke, but it makes BJ squeeze Hawkeye’s hand, which subsequently squeezes the lump in Hawkeye’s throat.

“That would make two of us.”

“Beej.”

BJ kisses him.

Hawkeye is nothing short of astounded.

They part quickly, BJ’s breath a little shaky on exhale, Hawkeye’s expression dumbfounded. BJ worries briefly that he’s only made things worse, but when he starts to step back, Hawkeye grabs at him, slamming his glass on the surface beside them and throwing his arms around BJ’s shoulders. BJ stumbles from Hawkeye’s enthusiasm, but swiftly steadies, looping his arms around Hawkeye’s middle.

BJ thinks, this is a long time coming.

Hawkeye thinks, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming.

They kiss clumsily, their hands repositioning, tugging on soft fabric, grazing across stubbled jaws, combing through coarse hair. Frantic and graceless, they stumble over each other in an outpour of want, and they neglect their surroundings enough to knock into the table. The shatter of the bottle on the ground makes them both jump, and they stare at what’s left of the wine painted across the dirty storage room floor.

“Damn,” Hawkeye breathes, still positioned in BJ’s arms. “There goes my whole schtick.”

“Do I get a refund?”

Hawkeye laughs, and gives him an incredulous look. “It’s _my_ wine!”

“Maybe a coupon,” BJ bargains, grinning.

“Hey, you break it, you buy it.”

“ _I_ broke it?”

“Ah-ha! A confession.”

“Been a lot of that going around tonight.”

Hawkeye hums, smiling. They spend the remainder of the night kissing, and crunching broken glass under their boots, and talking, and cleaning wine stains out of the floor.

And they laugh, because they’ve found something cosmically wonderful amidst all this treachery, and it’s all very romantic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I've never written fiction of any kind before, but this episode really had me thinking that it was going to end with BJ playing a little trick on Hawkeye, because I guess I've got my beejhawk glasses on too tight. Hope you enjoyed my attempt to articulate the version of the episode that lives rent free in my brain.


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